


Guitar & Mandolin

by CopperMask (Hard_boiled_candy)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Musicians, Phone Sex, Sexting, present day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 15:11:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14673726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hard_boiled_candy/pseuds/CopperMask
Summary: Cas moves to a new town and takes his mandolin to an amateur music jam. There's a man with a guitar there - a real heart-breaker. Fortunately Cas has no intention of getting his heart broken - all he wants is a chance to make beautiful music with Dean.





	Guitar & Mandolin

People were just arriving for the Bluegrass Slow Jam at the Heartland Club. It was a Monday, and to draw people in on what was inevitably a slow night, people just learning instruments were invited to come make music (or noise, the organizers weren’t fussy) in a big circle. As usual there were people who got set up early, tuning away in the corners. Cas Novak walked the room for the first time to see where he would feel most comfortable in the circle, and he could hear a six-string guitar.

The guitarist was off on his own, having pulled a chair out, and now sat with his back to most of the room. It was a poorly lit, low-ceilinged space with scuffed red carpet and an air of well-loved decrepitude. A long bar, with restrooms on either end, ran across one wall. One could play, and drink, always a plus.

The format was simple. It was assumed you knew the basic chords for your instrument, and someone in the circle would call out the chords as each change came up. The playbook was simple standards, with nothing more recent than the sixties.

The guitarist now commenced to pick out “Bile Them Cabbage Down,” a classic bluegrass tune Cas could probably do back-up mandolin for in his sleep. He moved so he was sitting with his back to the guitarist, and biting his lip with an evil smirk, he pulled his rather beat-up second-hand Gibson F9 from the case and checked the tuning.

As soon as he was ‘in’, Cas started to play with the guitarist. After the first four bars, the guitarist got up. Still playing, he walked over to Cas, and still playing, he shoved his butt between two chairs and still playing, he stood in front of Cas, looking him right in the face, and Cas looked down, because holding the man’s gaze was too challenging.

 _Holy crap! Holy crap he’s_ **_cute_** _._

Cas managed not to send his part of the tune flailing off into the weeds. They ended the song with a proper flourish and then, without pausing to speak, the guitarist fired up “Man of Constant Sorrow,” and they were at it again.

Once again they ended with a flourish. There was a light spatter of applause, and the guitarist bowed to the room. He put his guitar down on a chair and thrust out his hand.

“Dean Winchester,” he said. “I haven’t seen you in these here parts before.” The corn-pone accent was a put-on.

“Cas Novak, and I haven’t _been_ in these parts before. I just moved to town.”

Dean grinned, saying, “Coming to Slow Jam is a great way to make friends.”

“I have to do _something_ ; we’re on a seven day rotation with three days off, and Monday’s one of the days.”

“Can I get the thirsty stranger a beer?” Dean asked.

“Thirsty stranger says yes, please, and no, I’m not fussy,” Cas said.

“Back in a flash,” Dean said.

Cas did everything but slap his thigh and whistle at the view of Dean’s ass in jeans.

He allowed himself to think for a moment of how his ex-boyfriend would react to seeing Cas flirting and making beautiful music with someone the first time he managed to get out of the house after coming to a new city. Realizing that he was staring after Dean like a puppy, he turned around to face the room. More people were coming in. Somebody hauled a stand-up bass in and began to tune it. A middle-aged man in a buckskin jacket was pretending to tune shaker eggs, and from the reaction of the people around him, this was a weekly gag.

Dean delivered him his beer and they clanked bottle necks together and Cas looked away rather than watch Dean drink, since watching those lips touch anything was _most_ distracting.

“So how long’s this ‘shindig’ normally run?” Cas asked.

“Two hours, give or take. You could persuade me to leave early,” Dean said.

“I can’t imagine I’d be that lucky,” Cas said, flirting as hard as he knew how.

“I can’t imagine that luck would be involved,” Dean said, but he was interrupted before his hopeful expression could devolve into a leer.

Cas thought _, He’s buying me beer and hitting on me._

Cas turned his attention to the interruption. “Jody, and you are?”

“Cas, Cas Novak.”

“Dean hitting on you yet?” she asked.

“I’m pretty oblivious,” Cas said. “He might be but I thought he liked my mandolin playing.”

“I was watching him do it from across the room,” Jody said in tones of mild protest.

Cas stole a look at Dean. He was smirking, a great big “Busted!” expression on his face.

“I wasn’t trying to hide it, and my apologies if I offended anyone — whose business it wasn’t,” Dean said, mock-annoyed. “Now, buzz off, Jody.”

She smirked back at him and left.

“You have a reputation, obviously,” Cas said slowly. A smile, dorky and evil — and showing far too much of his healthy gums — appeared, and his eyes lit up like jewels. Dean told him afterward he felt a sort of click in his chest. “You should probably know about mine. I’m not dating, and I don’t do hookups because I am quite possibly the most squishy and romantic person you ever met. So I’m not interested, and even if I was you’d just break my heart. Now that we’ve settled that, shall we play?”

Dean sat next to him. He bought another beer. He said, quietly in Castiel’s ear, “I’m not interested in breaking your heart.”

“Bedsprings are no substitute,” Castiel replied, eyes wide and expression suspiciously solemn.

Cas’s arrival caused quite a stir over the next few months. Dean always sat next to him and paid him so much attention that the regulars began to snicker behind their hands. Cas was friendly to everyone, and it was no surprise when after a couple of months he started to date, but a very big surprise to Dean, when Dean was _not_ the man Cas was dating. Whoever he was dating, Cas was apparently too busy to come to Slow Jam for about six weeks. Dean started to look haunted. Cas reappeared and Dean laughed again for the first time in a month.

Jody found it amusing. She’d bet Pam and Charlie ten dollars that Cas would reel Dean in inside of a year and Dean wouldn’t even realize what had happened.

“Good to have you back,” Dean said to Cas as he approached the circle, offering him a beer.

“It didn’t work out,” Cas said, in response to the unasked question. “Onward and upward.”

“What was wrong with him?” Dean said, nosy as always.

“He was completely faithful to me when he wasn’t barebacking with guys on Grindr,” Cas said helpfully. “When I caught him he was kind enough to suggest a threesome. But you know how threesomes are, there’s always one of you wondering why the other guys never take their socks off —“

Here Dean choked on his beer.

“ — and when it’s going to be your turn and hoping that the DVR doesn’t cut off the last five minutes of Dr. Sexy while you’re out, like it did last week, even though you changed the recording defaults.”

“That all sucks,” Dean said after a pause, hoping to sound sympathetic.

“It did everything _but_ suck, unfortunately,” Cas said. “I’m now officially so horny you’re starting to look like a really wonderful mistake.”

“Story of my life,” Dean said. Cas waited for it. A smirk, a smart remark, a suggestion about how it would be _anything_ but a mistake. Dean said absolutely and precisely nothing else for the rest of the Slow Jam that was not event-related and it wasn’t until they were both headed out to their cars that Dean caught up to him and said, “I’m having a house concert at my house on Sunday. It’s fifteen dollars and BYOB. Are you interested?”

“Who is it?”

“Marian Call.”

“Never heard of her.”

“Saw her perform at a convention a few years back. Very cool performer, great chops and songwriting. I figure you’d enjoy her show. Bring an instrument, we jam afterwards and have a pot luck dinner.”

“I’d have to change shifts,” Cas said. Jody was standing by her car and openly watching them, damn her.

Dean said, in a very quiet, almost subdued voice, “Did you want my number? In case?”

When Cas didn’t answer right away, Dean backed off. “The details are on the website of the local paper under events — if you get a minute check it out. See you at Slow Jam next week,” and like lightning he was putting his guitar in the trunk of his extremely sexy and shiny black ’67 Impala and driving off.

Cas had to wonder what had just happened. He didn’t get in his car, merely stood like a fool looking after Dean. Jody materialized next to him, and he jumped.

“Did he ask you out?” Jody asked, and Cas scowled at her.

“He asked if I’d like to go to a house concert at his place this weekend. That’s a date, I suppose, except that it’s a potluck.”

“Dean never invites flings home,” Jody said. “You’ll have to forgive him. He got within sniffing distance of the ol’ picket fence dream once, and he hasn’t spent more than three weeks with anyone since. You’re actually the only person he’s shown any reasonable interest in for a couple of years.”

“Poor Dean,” Cas said. “He’s a modern guy and I’m so old-fashioned.”

“Why don’t you go to the house concert? It’ll give you a chance to see what he looks like at home,” Jody wheedled.

“I could try to change shifts,” Cas said. “I’ll think about it.”

 

He called his coworker, Garth, and asked him to swap Sunday for Monday, and was startled to hear him say, “I hug you! I kiss you! I love you forever!”

Cas was perturbed. “Uh, Garth — “

“Seriously, dude, if we could swap shifts that would be totally awesome; I didn’t ask before, because you never want to give up your Monday.”

“No, I don’t, since Slow Jam is usually the high point of my week, but not this week, apparently.” _This concert had better be worth it._

“Perfect. You’ve made my life a better place and now I can go to my stepdaughter’s all-state game and possibly - just possibly - continue to have a sex life.”

Garth was an enthusiastic soul. The boys in the group home mocked him to his face, but his chatty demeanour melted into deep listening when he was engaged, so it was a foolish person who wrote him off as all mouth and no heart.

Cas must have gone back and forth on the idea half a dozen times. There would be half a dozen people from Slow Jam; there would be people to talk to if Dean was busy.

There were so many cars on the street he had to park a block away. Cas got to the address and stood in front of the house for a moment, looking at it, trying to get an impression. The house was well cared for, but didn’t stand out in any way.

In the entrance way, he was able to hang his coat thanks to an ingenious pulley system and Charlie, the elfin redhead who took his ticket money and made everyone laugh when she was calling out the chords at Slow Jam, said Dean had designed it.

He could see about thirty folding chairs set out in the living room and a tiny riser, just big enough for one person.

Dean was coming down the front stairs into the living room as Cas entered the room, and the two of them looked at each other and Dean said with a surprised smile, as if Cas being there was the best thing about his day so far, “Cas, you made it!” and he moved toward him as if he was expecting to hug him or something and Cas stiffened and Dean slowed and then he walked past Cas saying in a low voice, “Save me a seat,” and Cas thought, _What is this, high school?_

Feeling like an idiot, he put his thermos of mint tea with ginger on the folding chair next to him, and greeted many familiar faces, and chatted with people like a civilized human. Dean finally finished all of his last-minute running around and sat down next to him.

Cas enjoyed the concert. A couple of times Dean turned to him and flashed a smile, and as soon as it was over he said, “So, wanna stay for the jam afterward?”

“I - I left the Gibson in the car.”

“Well, go get it,” Dean said, frowning slightly. “It won’t do any good out there! And make sure you buy a CD.”

“Bossy,” Cas muttered. Charlie overheard him and giggled.

It would have been better, Cas thought to himself as he was packing up to go home two hours later, if he had sat next to Dean for the jam after the concert. It was the two of them and three other people, another guitarist named Benny, a fiddler named Amy and a dulcimer player named Beth, and every time Cas looked up from his fretboard there were two bright green eyes following his every move. Cas started fumbling chords, but nobody commented.

It was late. Cas wanted to get home, because this version of Dean wasn’t an on-the-make horndog, he was a very sweet and very hot fellow musician who could create a beautiful venue and a rib-sticking chile con carne without apparent effort, and every second Cas hung around made him less like wanting to leave. So he made a very hurried and ungracious goodbye.

Then he sat in his car and felt like an idiot for a while. He still felt like an idiot when he walked back to Dean’s house and rang the doorbell.

Dean’s face as he answered the door perplexed him. First, he looked business-like. Then there was an instant when he could have sworn that Dean looked panicked. Then Dean smiled.

“Forget something?”

Cas had to speak before all his courage leaked away.

“Would you have dinner with me this Wednesday evening?” Cas asked.

“I’d love to,” Dean said.

“May I have your phone number?”

They programmed their numbers into each other’s phones. Dean’s warm fingers brushing his sent Cas’s heart rate spiking. He collected himself, smiled at Dean and said, “See you Wednesday.”

Promptly at noon on Wednesday Cas’s phone began to blow up.

 

Dean: I have no idea what I’m supposed to wear.

Cas: clothes. You’re supposed to wear clothes.

Dean: What kind of restaurant are we going to?

Cas: Who says we’re going to a restaurant

Dean: ??

Cas: For all you know I’m packing sandwiches and we’re eating on a park bench

Dean: So a boutonniere would be a bit much

Dean: It was a bit much learning to spell boutonniere srsly

Cas: To recap: wear clothes with a boutonnière

Dean: The boutonniere was for you but I can see it was dumb I can’t even get the accent over the e

Cas: what color

Cas: what color?

Dean: yellow

Cas: I’ll wear something that matches, how does that sound?

Dean: more than I deserve I’ll quit bugging you now

Cas: aw muffin

Dean: are you teasing me?

Cas took a selfie of himself looking overly concerned and sent it.

Dean took a selfie of himself à la Kevin McAllister from Home Alone (except he crossed his eyes) and sent it.

 

Cas laughed so hard at Dean’s expression he nearly dropped his phone.

 

Cas: pick you up at seven hope your eyes uncross by then

 

Their first date went like a very pleasant dream. They talked, they laughed, they teased each other, they enjoyed a lovely meal at a mid-range Italian place. He envied Dean his steady hands as he pins the boutonnière to his lapel.

The only troubling part was what to do on Dean’s porch. He walks Dean to his door feeling as if he might trip over some unseen expectations. If Dean asked him in, would he go? Should he try to kiss him good night? Dating sucked. He wanted to wake up in Dean’s bed six months from now, having skipped this part.

Dean took care of it. He pulled Cas in for a solid and promising hug, kissed the side of his neck almost imperceptibly, pulled back, smiled, said, “Good night,” and disappeared inside.

“Wow,” Cas said to the door. It was the Goldilocks of first date goodnights.

He thought about drying the boutonnière and wondered if Dean would laugh at that.

The next morning, not too early, there’s a text.

_Had fun. Thank you._

 

But no phone call. By the end of the day Cas was feeling as if he’d done something wrong during the meal and Dean was too sweet and tactful to tell him what had turned him off.It was after nine o’clock when he picked up his cell phone and tried to think of what he’d say, and his phone rang in his hand, startling him so much he nearly dropped it.

The only picture he had of Dean was flashing on his phone.

“Hullo,” Cas said cautiously.

“Cas? You okay, you sound funny,” Dean said.

“I was just about to call you.”

“To ask me out again?” Dean asked hopefully.

_Okay that is a strong signal that things are okay._

“Can I cook you dinner?”

Dean chuckled. Cas sagged with relief at the sound of that throaty laugh. “I don’t know, Cas, can you cook?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to cook something you won’t want to eat. Can you maybe suggest a few things?”

“When’s the last time you cooked something like an ordinary family dinner?” Dean asked.

Cas frowned. “What, like pot roast and veg and salad and mashed potatoes and gravy?”

“Whoa, not so ambitious! Mac and cheese?”

“Oh that,” Cas said. “I could cook that in my sleep. So, nothing fancy?”

“Like me,” Dean said.

“Oh really? You think you’re nothing fancy?” Cas was grinning.

“Decline to answer on the grounds it might incriminate me. So, when are you planning on feeding me?”

“Monday? Then we can go to Slow Jam together afterward.”

“Sure,” Dean said. “Can I ask you a stupid question?”

“Go ahead,” Cas said, “I’m feeling generous.”

“Are we dating?”

“Um… yeah…?” Cas replied, and his heart banged out a paradiddle in his chest. “Why… why would you think we weren’t?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Dean said.

Cas tried to say something useful. “Are you - have you dated men?”

“No.” His voice was very quiet.

“I’m the first man you’ve dated,” Cas clarified. “Are you freaking out?”

Dean made a little sound. He cleared his throat.

“Not exactly. Maybe. A little.”

Cas took a breath. “What are you concerned about?”

“I don’t date men,” Dean said, brusquely. “I mean, usually,” he qualified lamely.

“Dean, are you asking if you can reasonably anticipate having sex with me?” Cas asked, and larded on the sarcasm.

“Wow, I really do sound like an idiot when you put it like that,” Dean said, and this time the embarrassment was obvious.

Cas took a big breath. “I think you’re the sexiest man I ever met in my life. I don’t want to rush into sex, but I’d be lying if that wasn’t part of what I want.”

“That’s encouraging… And the other part?”

“I told you I was squishy and romantic,” Cas said.

“Marriage, Subaru, 2.2 kids?” Dean asked, obviously amused. At least he didn’t sound turned off or disgusted. It didn’t matter; he wasn’t going to lie to Dean because in the long run it wasn’t worth it.

“Kids come in whole numbers, Dean,” Cas said, chiding. “And Subarus won’t be available as electric cars for years. And I’m not even going to insist on marriage, how counter-culture is _that_?” Dean laughed, and Cas sighed, thinking that the faster he got it over with, and turned Dean off with his very conventional neediness, the faster he could stop daydreaming about him.

Cas said, flatly, “I want someone to come home to, and snuggle with and make plans with and have sexy Sunday mornings in bed with and I _don’t_ think that is an unreasonable thing to work toward. And right now we’re dating, which is the period during which people spend time together to see if they’re compatible.”

Dean’s throaty chuckle warmed Cas to his toes. “Compatible? I haven’t kissed you yet,” Dean said. “That item’s _really_ close to the top of my compatibility checklist.”

“Oh, really,” Cas said in a cheerful tone. “Are you daydreaming about it too?”

“Actually, I do a lot more thinking about you when I’m trying to sleep,” Dean said with a smile in his voice.

“Oh, that’s just _wrong_ ,” Cas said.

“How so,” Dean said, his voice on the slag side of gravel.

“If you were romantic you’d say you were thinking about me all the time, not just when you’re flipping through your spank bank,” Cas said, the teasing note back. “But I think we’ve established that I’m going to be coaching you on romance. And, that said … thank you for calling. I’m trying really hard not to text and call you all the time.”

There was a pause. “Me too. I left it as long as I could,” Dean said, in that quiet, embarrassed voice again.

“Text me anytime.”

“I want to drive over to your place and kiss you,” Dean said.

“How entirely scandalous,” Cas said. “What a great idea. Could you delay that for a short while?”

“Until you tell me where you live, I’m gonna hafta,” Dean growled, but he was teasing right back.

Cas made a hiccup of laughter, and said, “414 Alder… rear entrance.”

Cas almost heard Dean’s eyebrows go up. “Rear entrance? You’re kidding, right?”

“Believe me, it doesn’t sound any better when I say 414 Alder, back door.”

Cas could hear the smirk in Dean’s voice. “Do I park ‘round the front and slip round the back?”

Cas smirked back. “You’re a card — and who says you’re topping.”

“Um, when you talk like that and I haven’t even kissed you yet, a young man’s fancy _will_ turn to phone sex.”

“Young… I don’t care, but other people will ask. How old _are_ you?”

Dean chuckled. “Old enough to say age appropriate, and what are you, a frickin’ cop?”

“I have real handcuffs and fake ID; I do what I can,” Cas said.

“Are we _having_ phone sex and I didn’t catch the segue?” Dean said after a long pause. He was obviously thinking about Cas cuffing him and his brain had gone dark for a second as the blood shifted south.

“Well, not until one of us is touching himself, unless you’re one of those misguided souls who kinks on jazzing in his pants,” Cas said, with a lightness of tone completely at odds with his remark.

Dean apparently put the cellphone mic next to his fly and pulled it down (with prejudice) and then put the phone back up to his ear.

“Ooh,” Cas said. “I’ll let you get ready.”

“How ‘bout you?” and that low voice, drawling in his ear, pricked up every hair in Cas’s body. He controlled himself, mentally batting away his erection, and said, “I’ll concentrate on you, if you don’t mind. I won’t make you talk much. Just let me know how you’re doing once in a while, even if it feels a little… theatrical.”

Cas closed his eyes and started riffing. “I want you to know that when I sit next to you at Slow Jam I have to tell myself every five minutes or so not to touch you, or put my arm around you, or nuzzle up behind you, or kiss your ear. I have to force myself not to look at you. I want you to know you’re the only man I think about when I’m jerking off these days. By the time you touch my cock for the first time it won’t even remember the last time it got hard when I was thinking about anyone but you.”

“Oh my God,” Dean murmured, a hitch in his voice.

“Are you touching yourself?” Cas asked.

“Yeah,” Dean whispered. “Like, how could I not, dude, you have the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard.”

“Mmmm, I’ll take the compliment. I’m putting a pillow under your ass,” Cas said. “Wanna know why?”

“Uh,” Dean said.

“I’m gonna rim you. Can you feel my breath? Here comes my tongue! Mmm, mmm, mmm I’m gonna lick your pink hole and you’re going to twitch, twitch, twitch, every time I do.”

Dean moaned.

“Where’s the lube, I’m gonna get a finger up your ass now. Maybe two. Or would you like me to rim you some more, Dean? I’ll stick my tongue all the way inside you and wiggle it around until you beg for more.”

“This is me begging,” Dean said in a dazed voice.

“What do you like about it, Dean, that I seem so straight-laced outside the bedroom and try to be a complete freak in the sheets? Do you like me licking at your most secret place and making you moan?”

Dean groaned in response.

Cas riffed on a whole bunch of things Dean might like him to do, perhaps a complete teardown on his nipples, or half an hour of getting his prostate milked until he came like a bomb going off, or sucking on his dick while cupping and fondling his balls. And he thought of a few other things and whispered and growled into Dean's ear, while Dean made all kinds of enchanting noises.

“If you like that wait until the first time I swallow your come and kiss you.”

From the noise that followed this, Dean was coming. Or losing his mind. Probably coming.

“Yeah baby, give it up for me, give it up for me, let me have it!” Cas crooned in his ear.

For a long time all he could hear was Dean panting in his ear. Then Dean said, “Can I send you a pic?”

“Sure…. but call me back when you’re finished.”

The pic, when it came, ten long minutes later, was actually three pictures. One showed Dean’s impressive, spent cock and the staggered line of come he’d flung past his nipples; one showed the lower half of his face, licking come from a finger; and the last was a picture he must have taken on a timer, and then photoshopped, because it showed him bent over a pillow on his bed, ass thrust in the air, his muscular thighs looking even more powerful from this perspective, and there was an arrow pointing to it next to the word YOURS with a little curlicue heart.

Cas’s spank bank had received a large and welcome deposit.

He took a moment to text his reply. It was cheesy and over the top and also made a little slap at Dean’s reputation as a bit of a player.

GOD I HOPE SO

“Did you like that?” Dean’s voice teased through the phone.

“I think I’m going to like it for a long time,” Cas promised.

 

Their dinner didn't happen. Cas was forced to change shifts, much to his dismay. The next time they were in the same place was at Slow Jam and Dean followed Cas into the washroom, pulled him into a stall, locked the door and kissed him, slow, sweet and serious, for about ten minutes.

“No offence,” Cas said, hushed and gasping as he finally came up for air, “Can we kiss someplace that doesn’t smell like ‘Eau de Urinal Puck’?

“Can I follow you home?” Dean responded.

“Mm. You’ve been thinking about those cuffs. Admit it,” Cas purred into Dean’s beautiful ear. All of him was beautiful. All of him.

“Maybe later,” Dean said. “What I want is you in my ass until you come so hard you scare yourself.”

Cas sucked in a breath. “I am _not_ gonna last,” Cas said, since it seemed obvious.

“That’s a good thing,” Dean whispered, widening his eyes. His pupils were enormous. The effect was mesmerizing. “You losing control.”

“You are going to kill me,” Cas said, and he threw cold water on his face on the way out, since he looked drunk.

People hooted, clapped and whistled as they came out of the john. Dean, the ass, threw kisses and bowed. Cas skulked back to his seat. _Love in a small town,_ Cas thought, and then reminded himself that it wasn’t love, not yet, it was something as tough and as fragile as a seed, full of possibilities that might never come to be.

He was hopeful.

 

When it happened, Cas passed out afterward so fast that he barely managed to throw his arm over Dean before he was unconscious.Dean brought him coffee in bed, and at his shuttered eyes and mumbled greeting, realized that his amazing Cas was many things, but he was _not_ a morning person.

Dean went out into the living room, picked up his guitar and began to sing.

He had never sung in front of Cas before. He mingled his vocals with others, and sang along on choruses at Slow Jam, but now his voice, sole and aching and true and righteous, filled his apartment, and Cas lay in bed listening intently, and he cried the dust from the corners of his eyes, it was so beautiful.

He heard the guitar go back into the case and Dean quietly leave.

He texted him.

what song was that?

 

It was a few minutes before he got his answer, since Dean wasn’t an idiot and didn’t text while driving.

Angeles. I don’t even know why I played it, except there’s a mandolin part.

 

There was a pause and Dean texted,

 

I don’t ever want to play a song on my guitar again unless there’s a mandolin part.

 

Cas looked it up on the internet when he got home from work, and he started rehearsing the song.

It was the right thing to do. He was going to be playing duets with Dean for the rest of his life, after all.

 

 

FIN

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you thought this story was sweet, bring hither some sugar!
> 
> Thought I'd mention as an aside that I posted this from a tour bus 3500 miles from home. YAY WIFI.


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